Twisted Roots (DeBeers 3)

She loves making you a nice breakfast. She loves doing everything for you. Rosemary. You are her favorite, even more so than I am, you know, but I'm not jealous. It's natural for a great-grandmother to love her great-grandchild more, especially when she is still a little girl. When I was a little girl, she loved me more than she loved my mother. 'You're spoiling her.' my mother would complain. 'I spoiled you, too.' she would say. 'It's her turn.--

She laughed and looked around, "Isn't it a beautiful day, Rosemary?"

"Yes." I said.

It was, The sky was cobalt blue with just a patch of cloud here and there, all of them looking dabbed on one of Uncle Linden's canvases.

"We have had so many wonderful days like this together, haven't we. Rosemary? I was telling Mr. Montgomery about our beautiful lake. He wants to see it. Maybe he should be painting it After lunch we are all going for a nice walk to the lake, aren't we. Linden?"

"If you're up to it. Bessie. I would love to see it."

"Of course I'll be up to it. Why shouldn't I be? Isn't he the sweetest, most considerate man you have ever met. Rosemary? A perfect southern gentleman. too."

"Well, I'm from Palm Beach. Is that considered Southern?" he jokingly asked. "I have my doubts because most of the people I know there don't consider themselves Southerners. They are

Sophisticates. They come from Sophistica, a separate county, even a separate world."

"Oh, that's so silly. Isn't he silly? Palm Beach isn't another county."

"Tell that to the citizens of Palm Beach," Uncle Linden muttered and peered over his easel at me. "They even speak a different language and say things like 'How ticky-tacky.' and 'shampoo' instead of 'champagne.'"

Bess laughed, her laugh light and airy and caught in the breeze that lifted her beautiful hair and made it dance over her forehead. How long has it been since she laughed like this? I wondered. How long since she had a small respite from her continuous grieving?

"Oh, what a delight you are. What a silly delight," she told Uncle Linden, who beamed with pleasure.

"I've been called a lot worse." he said. He shook his brush at Bess. "You can call me whatever you like, but don't call me late for dinner."

She laughed again and then, without much warning, threw her arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to her, kissing my forehead.

"Isn't she a beautiful child. Linden?"

"I wouldn't be painting her otherwise," he replied. "nor would I be painting you if you weren't a beautiful woman. Bessie. It's against my religion to paint anything ugly or unpleasant," he said. Her embarrassed laughter followed the blush that came quickly into her cheeks.

I couldn't help but be impressed with how charming Uncle Linden was being. Was he doing a good thing, or was it something that just prolonged the tragedy, and now, as I thought about what had happened last night and was still happening, made us a part of it?

"Just turn your head slightly to the right far me. Bessie." he told her, and she released me and did what he asked. "Yes," he said. "Perfect. You must have done this before."

"Me? I haven't."

"You've never worked as an artist's model? That's difficult to believe," he said and worked an.

Nothing I had seen him paint had given him as much pleasure, I thought, and then I remembered how nervous and troubled Mommy had been when he first had asked me to pose. This was different. though. I told myself. He wasn't painting me. He was painting Bess and Bess's Rosemary. I was just a stand-in for her. It was surely not the same thing.

Or was it? Was all of this the same thing: a fanning of the world of madness and illusion, strengthening the illness that had so gripped his mind most of his life, and was I now the one solely responsible for that?

We had taken too much on ourselves. Heyden. I thought, looking his way, far too much.

Nevertheless. Uncle Linden was more talkative and amusing than I had ever seen him. He rattled on and on, telling one funny Palm Beach story after another. Bess's laughter became our background music, and the more she laughed, the more he talked. He told her stories I had never heard, and he was very entertaining. How frustrated he must have been in the residency not having people to talk to who would stimulate his mind or encourage his creativity. I thought, comforting myself. Even if this wasn't forever, it was a wonderful interlude for him, too, wasn't it? It couldn't be all bad, Eventually Mommy would have to admit to that.

We paused to drink some fresh lemonade Mrs. Stanton brought out to us, and while we rested. Uncle Linden talked about his youth, living on a beach property, dreaming of sailing off to wonderful foreign lands.

'The truth is I never went more than a dozen or so miles from home, but sometimes, sometimes dreams are enough," he concluded.

"Yes." Bess said. nodding. "Sometimes they are."

I didn't say a word. I was more like an observer now It was as if they had forgotten I was there. and I didn't want to spoil the magic for them.

We returned to modeling and creating the picture. Finally, literally hours after I had first joined them, we heard the tinkling of a bell.